Tendrils of the Past by Anthea Fraser

Author:Anthea Fraser [Anthea Fraser]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2022-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

NINE

Rose couldn’t now remember when these monthly lunches at the Rosemount had started, but they were a regular and enjoyable fixture in her calendar. They were always held on a Wednesday, partly to separate them as widely as possible from the Saturday coffee mornings, and partly to leave the more traditional Sundays free for family invitations.

Occasionally she and Henry met on other occasions, such as on theatre visits or a coach trip to a stately home, but somewhat to her surprise she was never bored in his company. He was an erudite, widely travelled man and she valued his opinion on a range of subjects, as she had valued her husband’s but hardly anyone else’s, being an opinionated woman herself.

She was aware that on his part Henry enjoyed her company, since she was far more on his wavelength than any of the residents at the hotel, though for the most part they were pleasant enough.

As was her custom, Rose chose to walk to the Rosemount; she usually allowed Henry to drive her home afterwards, especially now the nights were drawing in. The clocks would go back at the weekend.

As she turned the corner into Marine Drive she met the onshore wind full blast and shivered, drawing her coat more closely about her. The pier facing her at the end of the road had its bleak winter look. It was mainly the haunt of anglers at this time of year though some hardy people – mostly dog-walkers – went for bracing walks along it in all weathers. Rose was not among them, and she turned with relief out of the main thrust of the wind into the road that housed the Rosemount.

Henry was, as always, waiting in the foyer to welcome her. A fact that might have surprised her gossiping granddaughters was that in all the years she’d been coming here, Rose had never even seen his room. A gentleman to his core, he entertained her only in the public rooms.

‘Let me take your coat,’ he said now, helping her off with it. ‘There’s a log fire in the lounge, so that and your usual tipple will soon warm you up!’

Being a residential hotel, the Rosemount had no separate bar. Instead, a section at one end of the lounge was screened off and revealed every evening at six o’clock. Wine was available if required at lunchtime, as were pre-prandial drinks if ordered in advance.

Installed in an armchair near the fire, Rose sipped her dry sherry and looked contentedly about her: at Mr Warren engaged in the Times crossword; at Miss Derbyshire and Miss Culpepper, together as usual and both busily knitting; at Colonel Latimer and Mr Merriweather discussing a forthcoming rugby match while their wives chatted. It was, Rose thought, a world of its own, co-existing with but separate from the larger universe beyond its doors. There were certainly worse places to be if owning your own home was no longer an option, though, as she’d assured Verity, it was not for her.

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